Food is love

I don’t mean to be a tonsillectomy bore. But if you’ve read my last few posts I hope you’ll understand why I am so excited that I am almost over the whole ordeal of the recovery.

The boyf came back from work early today and (as we had a babysitter looking after the girls) we nipped across to Westfield shopping centre in Stratford for a brief fling with consumerism. It was quite exciting to have a couple of kid-free hours ahead of us. Dare I call a trip to a mega-mall a tad romantic?

We don’t get out much, no.

If you’ve ever been to Westies, you might have felt baffled by the almost endless food choices offered. Now times that sentiment by about a million and you might come close to how I felt today. We are talking can’t-make-yer-flipping-mind-up confused.

Not the point. The point is I ended up ordering a Vietnamese rice noodle dish with prawns and chicken and I was able to eat it (not much of it but gme a break-tummy has, thankfully, shrunk) and not screw my face up into an agonised ball of tortured human mass with every mouthful.

In fact it was bloody delicious.

I am (almost) cured of the pain from the op and I am starting to eat again. And the best part is I now have no tonsils. Hurrah.

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Taste sensation!…Out of a box

I thought it would be days before I could get back to one of my favourite pastimes: eating chocolate. But as luck would have it (a very rainy afternoon, a bored three-year-old and a refusing-to-nap one-year-old to entertain, recovery from the tonsillectomy well and truly making such pleasures possible), my first foray back into the beautiful land of chocolate came in the form of this box.

Image

Luckily, we had the 50grams of butter and egg required and we let Mlle Ancel’s handy pack of cookie mixture do the rest.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. The pain is definitely dying down (and it’s not just the drugs talking) and I managed to swallow a whole two cookies without wincing as they found their way past my tonsil-free throat. In fact, they were bloody delicious. Call me an easy customer (the occasional bit of toast has been as exciting as it has got for me this last week) but these totally hit my spot. The kids loved them too.

Sometimes the simple pleasures are the best.

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Tramadol: Too much of a good thing?

I feel like a new woman.

This morning, I got up with the babes, dressed them, fed them, brewed myself a cup of tea (water still hurts too much to swallow) and left the boyfriend to have an enviable 20 minute snooze (he deserves it, he’s been solo Daddy for the past week I’ve been lying in my bed of pain). Then he came down to take over and I went up to the bathroom, peeled off my pjs, showered, put on my red cashmere knit and skinny grey jeans, and applied mascara and red lipstick. Just like the good old days before I got my tonsils out.

“But she’s been in agony (and pyjamas) for days. How the hell did she do that?” I hear you all shout.

The answer is simple, and rather beautiful all rolled into one: prescription Tramadol.

I don’t know much about pharmaceuticals but I understand it’s in the league of Morphine type drugs. No shit people get addicted to that stuff. I’m riding high on this Tramadol and I’m not even taking the full whack they prescribed. I can still see, talk, think clearly (ok, the talking perhaps isn’t quite as clear as usual but that’s because I’m down a couple of tonsils and quite swollen back there) but the world is a warmer, more pleasant, fluffier place to be. Whatever I am doing-changing the little lady’s pooey nappy, dealing with the Madame’s tantrum, cleaning dishes, daydreaming, watching tv-is somehow perfect. I suppose one could say I am loved up with life.

I will have loads of the stuff left over after I am finally recovered from the tonsillectomy and need pain relief no more. I have suggested to the boyfriend we should take some Tramadol recreationally but he has just given up smoking, is on a health drive and thinks I’m nuts. The tabs don’t go out of date for months though so I’ve got plenty of time to win him round.

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When luck starts to turn (or stronger meds)

Yesterday morning (day 7 recovery after my tonsillectomy) I decided to do something about the pain.

That came in the form of a desperate call to the ENT surgeon’s secretary. It went something like this:

Me: I can’t take this any more. I haven’t left my bed in a week and I have hardly eaten a thing.

Sec: Oh no, we can’t have that. You need to be eating to get better. And you shouldn’t be experiencing so much pain. We need to get you some stronger pain killers.

Me: (pause, tears to the eyes – her words were true salvation)…Thank you.

And hey presto, within the hour, a prescription for Tramadol had been faxed to my local chemist and the very nice pharmacist (whom I will be rewarding with a box of Quality Streets when I am better) had arranged for the drugs to be dropped round to my house. Who says you can’t get good service these days? You do in Hackney.

And hence, my recovery began.

Tramadol, I love you.

Chocolate, I am on my way.

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Food mirages but mainly just chocolate

Perhaps the hunger is getting to me even more than the pain. That is saying something – I was close to tears last night during a violent coughing fit. Should you ever decide to get your tonsils out as an adult I recommend you get yourself an ice pack, or even two (you can alternate them), at the ready for your recovery. It, and a Mr Freeze, provided the only shadow of light (hey, I’m down in the dumps, even light is made of shadows) and eventually got me off to sleep.

This morning, I am trying to tell myself my fighting spirit is back. But I am not really convinced it is. I made it downstairs to make toast before running back up to my den, where I am safe from the children (except when the boyf is having his shower and they are free to roam). I even managed to eat it which was a feat in itself. But it is not enough and I think the lack of food is tugging on my morale.

Forgive me for sounding like a stuck record but I have eaten very little in the last few days, and what I have managed to ingest has been as bland as it gets. Much as I am enchanted by the prospect of losing a few kilos, if weight loss and tasty food were each on one side of the scales, the balance would be starting to tip in favour of nosh. I need to get something more than a bit of toast and an ice lolly down me.

In a bid to cheer myself up, I have come up with a list of delicious things that I am looking forward to eating again:

Chocolate brownies. But not any old brownies. I will source an amazing recipe (perhaps I can start my research today) and make my own.

Chocolates melting their warm glow onto my long-suffering tongue. The boyfriend got me a couple of dark chocolate KitKats for my return from hospital but they are still sitting in my bedside table (my pain is maintaining their existence). They will do for starters.

On a savoury note, I am looking forward to eating a bowl of good old spaghetti bolognese. It may sound boring to you, but it would genuinely put a smile on my face.

There are also some things I would like to do if/when I get better:

Go to the Tate Modern. I haven’t been in ages and I love it.

While I’m there perhaps I should try the London Eye. I’ve never been. Shame on me.

Go on holidays somewhere really warm. Perhaps even a weekend break with boyfriend somewhere like southern Portugal. Sun and a bit of rekindling. If he ever wants to rekindle after seeing me writhe around in pain for a week.

That’s it for now. The agony is back on top and I need to get my fighting gloves on.

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Jaffa cakes

I’m really missing normal food. Or more to the point I am yearning to flirt with my palate like I used to before I got my tonsils chopped out. I have spent much of the day in bed surfing the internet looking at recipes of delicious food that would make me really happy. Over the last three days, I have also watched every available episode of Masterchef the Professionals on BBC iPlayer (eight so far). This clearly makes me a Sucker For Punishment.

It still feels as if I have shards of glass punctuating the route down my throat. Saliva is bad but food is much worse still. I wonder what Monica Galetti would be eating if she had her tonsils out. Probably not six Jaffa cakes (the orange part stung like hell but it was worth it for the momentary fling with chocolate).

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Tonsillectomy = pain, at both ends

I’m on recovery day 6 after getting my tonsils out. I know it’s supposed to be a rough ride and a lot of people say the pain gets worse today before it then starts getting better. But for some reason I thought that I was a good candidate for being a “mine actually wasn’t that bad”. It is so bad though. Really really bad.

Yesterday, the nice pharmacist at least helped relieve me of the chronic constipation I had been suffering with since day 1. Thank F for glycerin suppositories. Personally, I don’t have a problem with putting things up, instead of swallowing. And anyway the pill form laxatives really hadn’t got things moving. I was left with little choice.

My trip to the chemist was also a good excuse to peel off my pjs and get my skinny jeans and sunglasses on and parade up to my local high street. Nothing like a change of scenery and some fresh air when you have been cooped up in bed for almost a week. I bumped into a couple of neighbours on my round trip and succeeded in revealing the motive of my trip to only one of the two.

So I can guarantee that the glycerin works a treat (almost too well) and I feel (and weigh) as light as a feather this morning (I am hoping weight loss will be the silver lining of this whole ordeal). But today is a very dark day in other ways. My throat absolutely kills. It feels red raw and like lemon is being perpetually scraped against it. I wonder if this is the start of the ‘scabs falling off’ phase which, from what I have gleaned from endless surfing of online tonsillectomy forums, is at best the time when the back of your throat goes from looking like it’s covered in cottage cheese to being a lively red, and at worst results in gory blood scenes and trips to A and E. Lucky for me we live pretty close to Homerton Hospital. But pretty please, let me collide with best case, not worst.

The boyfriend has so far been amazing but he is going back to work on Monday which puts me back in the driving seat with the girls. That means in less than 24 hours from now I will need to get myself out of my pjs and into the fighting spirit. Can I do it? I’m not sure. Perhaps the A and E option isn’t a bad one after all.

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